Panem Academy
by Hesiod
Summary: Katniss is sent to military school where things are rigid, structured, and very much traditional. She meets one girl in particular who gives her a break from all that. Things might be peachy if security breaches weren't occurring at Panem Academy, and Katniss and Johanna weren't at the top of the school's suspect list. AU. Joniss.
1. Chapter 1

One ill-aimed textbook into a bully's eye and I'm shipped off to military school.

Talk about an overreaction.

I remain stubbornly quiet during the ride there, trees and endless fields blurring by either side of the highway. Mom's silent. Typical. She's sitting in the passenger seat no doubt agreeing wordlessly with everything dad says. Dad is firing off one of his lectures, ripping me a new asshole as if I don't feel bad enough already.

"We aren't trying to punish you, Katniss. I didn't like the idea of military school either when I was a boy, but I learned a great deal about discipline and respect when I was there. Hopefully your last two years of high school will grant you the same," Dad says, grim-faced and determined. He's talking like this is a negotiation – as if I actually had a choice whether I could go or not. I scratch at my seat belt and it's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes.

Wasn't it dad who always said that you protect family, no matter what? - that you draw a line in the dirt and if someone crosses it, then you damn well better stand your ground?

Well, I had to protect Prim - he should know that - and in all cases, what ended up happening was an _accident_. I didn't want the kid to get blinded, douchebag or not. I didn't want any of this.

It's not long before the school comes into view. It's a large base with high chain-link walls and a giant gate. I can see military jeeps parked in some of the garages off to the left; a cannon-statue mounted up and glimmering with the morning's heat off to the right. As we roll up to the gate guard, dad looks over his shoulder at me, shooting something of an encouraging expression.

"Here we are, Katniss. This is Panem Academy."

* * *

><p>The goodbye is short after registration. Mom gives me a hug, dad gives me a nod; as if they aren't condemning me to the most depressing place ever. I see a class of recruits jog by in formation, chanting each offstep and it nearly makes me cringe thinking about how <em>I'm<em> going to be doing that soon. An overly excited counsellor named Effy is leading me to my dorm, pointing at the different buildings as we move along. I'm half listening to her drabble and half listening to my hammering heart as dread slowly spreads through my body.

_I'm actually here. I'm here to stay_.

It's a bone-chilling, terrifying thought.

"This is the dorm hall where all the cadets board during their time here. You're in block 12," Effy says, leading me down a white corridor. We walked until we reach the very end and she let's me walk in first. There's about 15 single beds lined up across the room, each perfectly made and pristine. There's only one that doesn't look inhabited, and Effy urges me over. "Your new home for the next two years. It's very exciting, isn't it?"

"Sure," I breathe, tossing my duffle bag onto the bed.

"-Oh no! Not on the bed," Effy says quickly, pointing to the floor. "Just put away your belongings and then you can store it in the underside compartment. Don't want to have messy living quarters on your first day, do you?" she says with a tinkle of laughter.

I blink at her. "Are you serious?" I ask, before pointedly dropping the bag on the ground.

"What? Yes of course. Don't you want to make a good impression? - Oh, just flatten out that crease there. Good. Back in tip top shape!" she says with a clap. Her smile is _almost_ contagious. "Now, put your stuff away and we can get you a fresh set of uniforms. We can even fit in a quick tour before they finish first formation, and then you can go straight to class."

I nearly groan. My head hadn't stopped spinning and the last thing I wanted to do was get thrown into a class of people I'd never met before. "Already?"

"Of course. You're already starting your semester one week late, so there's no time to lose," she says, lowering her chin to look at me amiably through her lashes. "But don't worry, we don't usually get new faces around here aside from the younger recruits. So the odds are in your favour, I'm _sure_ everybody will like you."

* * *

><p>It turns out, much to my dismay, that Effy was probably the kindest employee I was going to meet at this academy. By an incredibly large margin.<p>

Effy escorted me to my period 1 class, which was just arithmetic, and then left me with a map and couple encouraging words to get me through my day. Needless to say, I got lost getting to my period 2 class, science, and everybody had to do 20 push ups on my behalf.

So no, no new friends just yet.

Third period I got there early (by stalking a classmate who I overheard groaning about history - my next class, too), but I was barely through the door before a hand slammed into the locker beside my face and an arm was barring my entrance. The crashing noise nearly sent me through the ceiling.

"You're not going in there like that, are you?"

I look at the face connected to the arm, which is definitely intruding my personal space, then gape at it. The girl arches an eyebrow expectantly, dark bangs scattering across her forehead with vibrant red streaks.

"Your top two buttons," she clarifies, raising her free hand and for a moment I think she's gonna grab me by the collar and shake me. She stops short at the first button in question and starts fastening it back into place. "They're undone. Sgt. Coleson is going to make us do push ups," she says, making quick work of the second. Her fingers are deft and methodical, and all I can do is watch (because who blatantly invades personal bubbles like that?_ Who? _- and what other response is there?).

"Sorry," I say, trying to back away, but the lockers are behind me and she's trapping me from the front. The girl's brows are knitted together in focus, as if the condition of my shirt was more important than satisfying the social norm to acknowledge me. She pulls on either end of my shoulders, flattening out the uniform. "I'm new."

Finally, pleased with her work, she smirks. Her face is way too close for comfort and her fingers linger. "You don't say."

And then I literally don't know what to say, because she's still standing there smirking at me as the seconds tick by with that stupid smug, wicked smirk and I can't tell if she's an asshole or predatory or friendly or weird and there's a 300-pound _something_ dropping from my throat to my stomach-

"Stop bugging the new kid, Johanna," a voice from behind says, cutting through the tension. I look to my rescuer, a tall boy who has half a smile on his face, and shoot him a grateful look.

The girl only shrugs. "Just seeing what she's made out of," she says, backing off a bit. Her eyes scan me up and down, and she's _definitely_ sizing me up. She crosses her arms, sucking on the inside of her cheek. "That's important here,"

"Don't mind her," the boy says, and - Johanna, I guess her name is - gives him a playful shove to the side. He sways back, eyes on me. "What's your name?"

"Katniss,"

"Catnip?" he repeats.

"No, it's Katniss," I start, but neither of them are listening anymore because a shorter blonde boy is calling them into the classroom, saying they'll be late. They start to abandon the hallway and I follow suit, filing into the classroom. I scout an empty seat by the back and make my way over, but a hand catches my arm. I look up and it's the boy from before.

"I'm Gale, by the way. That's Peeta there," he says, gesturing to the boy who had called us in. "We've got lunch after this, though you probably know that." He chuckles. "But anyway, you're welcome to join us if you want."

I pause for a second, almost declining immediately - because who were these people and why were they being nice to me? But then I think about how mom always says I'm convinced everyone wants something, and Prim says I should be nicer to people, and how the only thing that could possibly make this bad day worse, would be having to eat lunch alone in a full cafeteria. Suddenly lunch with these two strangers didn't seem like a terrible idea. So I crook my lip into something of a smile and nod. "Okay," I say. He smiles and lets go of my arm, letting me slip into my seat as class begins.

* * *

><p>They advised me not to eat the powdered soup. I push the pasta around my plate idly, listening to them (and they had made a game of it, really) tell me about all the things they wish somebody had told them when <em>they<em> first got here.

Don't be late, ever. Don't ask if boots are shined with spit. Don't wander into the forest (or rather, don't get caught). Don't mess up morning formation. Or midday formation. Or any of the formations, because everybody gets punished and therefor everybody will hate you. Don't ask why the sergeants feel the need to yell orders instead of calmly stating them. Don't have fun or enjoy yourself ever.

Maybe I made that last one up.

They might as well have said that, anyway.

Peeta begins giving me the rundown of daily life at the academy. Apparently, being two years and one week too late, I know literally nothing about the basics. He's trying to teach me, but all I can think about is why anybody thinks it's important to make sure your forefinger touches the outermost edge of your eyebrow for a proper salute. Or why, when there's a wrinkle in your beret, it's most definitely the end of the world and everybody must do sit ups.

Johanna comes about halfway through lunch, sliding onto the bench in a not-ungraceful _plunk_. Her apple veers off her tray, but she swoops it up before it can roll off, and takes a crunching bite. In tow with her is another girl with half of her blonde hair shaved on one side, and an interesting display of vine tattoos (right on her scalp!).

"Can you believe they won't let me switch dorms a week into school? I have a freakin' water-damage gaping black hole ready to crash down on me as I sleep any day now," Johanna says, clearly agitated.

"Do you always have something bothering you?" Gale asks, with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lip.

The blonde girl puts her elbow on the table, propping up her fork-hand before digging into her pasta. "Of course. If she didn't hate this place so much, she'd be bored to tears," she says. She runs a hand through her hair, looking up at me from her pasta.

"Not everyone volunteers to be America's hero. You know, some of us would actually prefer having lives," Johanna counters.

"Who's this?" the blonde asks, still looking at me.

"Catnip,"

"New kid,"

"Katniss,"

Gale, Johanna and I respond in unison. The blonde only blinks at me. "Katniss," I repeat. "And you are?"

"Cressida," she says. "Welcome to Panem." She leans in a little closer, as if telling me a secret. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be. Follow the rules, get good at them, and this place is a lot of fun."

"- for army brats like Cressida, maybe." Johanna chimes in. "The real fun is in breaking the rules and not getting caught,"

Peeta, who'd been busy eating up til now lets out a chuckle. "You've been caught tons of times, Jo."

"Bad luck," she states simply.

"I still remember the never ending push ups," Peeta replies.

"God, and that time you stole the key to the lab supply room. All that 5am running has scarred me," Gale says.

Johanna just smirks, leaning back into her seat casually. She brushes her smatter of bangs out of her face like she doesn't have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn't. "I did push back the due date for that report by 3 days for everybody; so I'd say I'm something of a hero."

"Right. _Hero_," Peeta drawls sarcastically.

"Never mind that," Johanna says, suddenly turning to look at me. She grins crookedly. "I want to know what _you_ did to get here."

I pause for a moment, feeling the weight of all four sets of eyes on me. "Who says I did anything?" I counter.

"Come on, you come at some rando time halfway through the program; you don't look army grown or remotely interested in this stuff. Your parents sent you here because you did something," she presses. She's not wrong, and I suppose it's quite obvious that I don't belong here. But I don't want to talk about myself in front of four people I just met, one of whom isn't exactly _nice_. If I had to guess, the same thing happened to Johanna and her parents shipped her to Panem, too.

"It's nothing," I say, looking down at my pasta. I continue pushing it around with my fork. "It's just something I've got to do."

"Okay miss mysterious," Johanna says, and I can still feel her staring at me even though I'm looking at my plate. "I'll get you to tell me one of these days. I'm very persuasive, you know. You'll come to like that about me," she adds, with a sly little smile.

I spare a glance upwards, make eye contact like a deer looking at a panther, and somehow I don't doubt her at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys, just watched Mockingjay Part 1, and it kind of rekindled some old flames. <strong>

**This is just a little bit of fun, not sure how long I'll continue with this project and only a vague idea about where it's headed. But we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoy. **


	2. Chapter 2

English is relatively uneventful. The teacher makes me read for the class, which mortifies me, and then Cressida tells me I'm a good speaker - which mortifies me. For fifth period I have health class, which is the same boring shit as it is in normal schools, and by then I've decided that I positively hate being in my starchy uniform. I undo the top button in an act of silent rebellion, and approximately four seconds later, Peeta tells me to do up my top button. I want to punch him in the mouth. After 45 minutes of learning why stretching before exercise is beneficial, I'm released to my sixth period class - 'Tactics'. Whatever that means.

"Gale and I have math next," Peeta says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "But I think Johanna's in your next class, so you can have someone to sit with."

"That's," I pause, because _'good'_ probably isn't how I'd describe the situation. The girl was intimidating. Intrusive, if not more. Peeta chuckles, smiling like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Going to be interesting," I finish.

Him and Gale wish me luck and leave the classroom - and I'm sad to see them go, because despite just meeting them, they're good company and I don't exactly want to be left alone again. I pack up my bag and pull out the school map, trying to figure out where to go next.

Of course, ten minutes later, I'm lost and the hallways are empty because I'm the only person not in class yet. I'm navigating through some older building, trying to find the quickest route out of the ugly, red-bricked halls. Judging by the room labels, there aren't even classrooms in this section of the school. I pass a couple equipment rooms before coming to an open door, labelled '_Archive_'. There's some shuffling sounds and I figure someone's in there who I can ask for directions. I put my hand on the door frame and peek inside.

"Shouldn't you be in class, recruit?" comes a voice from behind; deep and steady, but unmistakably full of authority.

I retreat from the door, stiffening at the sudden confrontation. I turn around to see an older man in a white uniform, hands clasped behind his back politely but with a suspicious expression. He blinks patiently at me.

"Sorry, I'm lost," I say, feeling uneasy. My eyes flicker to his chest, where multiple pins decorate his uniform. So he must be important. He also looks unhappy. "Can you tell me where M4 is?"

"Not down here," he says, taking slow steps and closing the distance between us. He's nearly towering over me now, his scent of roses overpowering in the small hallway. "It's a portable outside. That way," he inches his head back the way I came in a slight, stiff movement.

"Right. Thanks," I say, making my way immediately. I didn't like being around him. That, and I was already terribly late.

There's the sound of a throat clearing, and I halt my step. "Recruit," he says, drawing out the word like it's a trap, a snare. I look over my shoulder. He pauses for a moment and lets the silence hang thickly. "Please get into the habit of addressing your superiors with '_sir' _or _'ma'am'_. This is a military institute."

Right. Shit. I nod my head quickly, eager to get out of his disapproving stare.

"Yes sir."

* * *

><p>The glare I receive from Johanna when I walk into class 15 minutes late is literally terrifying. There's a collective groan from the class when the teacher, Sgt. Haymitch Abernathy, announces we have to do 50 push ups <em>'in the spirit of bonding with the new girl'<em>, as he put it.

When the push ups are over and I've finished my pitiful display of physical prowess (or lack thereof, since I was at about 20 when they'd finished their set), I shuffle to the back of the classroom and avoid eye contact with everyone. I see Johanna sitting at the back, but I didn't want to face her just yet. I choose a seat in same row, away from her.

"What, too cool for me now? Sit beside me." Johanna whispers across the long table. She's sitting five seats down and there's three people in between us, but the spot beside her is empty.

I cast a look to Haymitch, who has resumed his lesson, then back to Johanna who looks like she's getting impatient. As if to emphasize her request, she drums her fingers on the empty table space beside her.

I sigh, and as quietly as I can (which isn't that quiet, and I manage to both drop my pencil bag and make the chair scrape horrendously loud against the ground) I pick up my stuff and awkwardly move over to Johanna.

Haymitch pauses mid-sentence, just looking at me with an amused sort of incredulity. "Sorry guys, class is on pause to play musical chairs. Also, you can come in whenever you want from now on," he says, eliciting a chorus of snickers from the class.

I feel a mixture of embarrassed and annoyed, but I swallow it down with a murmured '_sorry_'. The class finally takes their attention off me as slide into the seat beside Johanna, who is looking as irritable as ever.

"Wow you're smooth," she says, leaning back into her chair and watching me get settled in. "How can I learn be as smooth as you?" she asks. The sarcasm is practically tangible. But, there's a curl to the side of her lip and I wonder if this is just her way of being friendly. Or not.

I roll my eyes. "Shove off."

"Your top button is undone again," she says, reaching over to do it up. I scowl down at her fingers. I forgot that I'd undone it earlier while looking for the classroom. "You're a disaster, you know that? Like seriously . . ."

"Cut me some slack. I've only been here for six hours." It was true. I had literally only arrived this morning, even though it felt like weeks away. In just a handful of hours, I'd managed to piss off nearly everyone I came into contact with. It was pretty impressive.

Johanna laughs quietly, chewing on the nail of her thumb and shaking her head in the slightest. "Well you sure know how to make an impression," she says. Then her eyes lock with mine, much like they did earlier this morning when she had me trapped up against the lockers. They're curious and intense, and in that moment, something about it _melts_ me. "What am I going to do with you, brainless?"

* * *

><p>We're heading to midday formation and I can feel my stomach twisting with something manic. I'm hoping they'll let me sit out, but when we go outside and the whistle blows, all the cadets start lining up in their positions and I have no idea where to go.<p>

"Go to your platoon, Catnip." Johanna says, giving me a weird look. The look I returned must've been of blatant, utter confusion, because she puts her hand on my shoulder, giving me a light shove in Gale and Peeta's direction. "Section 12. Go," she urges. When I hesistate, she shakes her head, casting a reassuring grin. "You'll be fine. Don't take it personally if they dog on you." Then she's off in a flutter of red streaks and raven hair, joining the cadets a couple groups away.

I stumble over to the two in question, and they're waving me over. "There you are," Peeta says.

As soon as I approach, Gale grabs me by the shoulders and literally places me in the spot I'm supposed to stand. "Just copy the rest of us," he says, while Peeta looks over my uniform, flattening out creases here and there. I feel like I'm being dolled up by a prep squad, the way they're fixing me up. "Where's your beret?"

"My hat thing?" I ask, looking around. Sure enough, everyone else was wearing theirs. Even Johanna, a couple rows over, had pulled hers out from seemingly nowhere and had fixed it on her head. I hadn't known to bring it. "Back in the dorm."

"Uh oh," Peeta says.

Uh oh? I don't have time to question it, because our squad leader - a bulky guy who I can tell is in charge by the way the others stand in attention to him - stands in front of the platoon and lets out a booming "Cadets! To attention!"

The squad leaders of the twelve sections start to inspect their platoons, walking up and down the aisles of recruits. When ours, who I've nicknamed no-neck, reaches me, he stops. _Just what I need_.

"Recruit, identify yourself!" He yells right in my face. I inch backwards from him, trying not to get his spit in my eye.

"Katniss Everdeen. I'm new-" I start to respond.

"That's Katniss Everdeen, _sir_!" he interrupts, yelling back.

"Well yeah-" I start, immediately regretting my informality. In my peripheral I can see Gale cringe.

No-neck takes a step even closer, craning his lack-of-a-neck to get inches from my face. "Everdeen, did no one ever teach you proper etiquette?"

"No, I don't-"

"Recruits have five basic responses!" He barks. He turns to the recruit standing next to me. "Walsh, what are the five basic responses?"

"Yes sir; no sir; I'll find out sir; no excuse sir; and I understand sir. Sir!" he yells out diligently, without even shifting his gaze.

No-neck looks back at me. "Everdeen, have you used any of those responses since formation started?"

I grit my teeth. He wants me to say 'no sir', but the ridiculousness of the situation makes me want to rebel. I'm not a robot. What happened to Americn freedom of speech? So instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and say "Nope."

"Nope?" He repeats, eyes widening in incredulity. "Do you think this is a joke, cadet? This is not a joke."

"I'm not laughing," I say, matching him with an even gaze.

"You're going to have to fix that attitude, Everdeen." He says. He looks me toe to head, scrutinizing my outfit. Then he scowls. "Cadet, where's your beret?"

* * *

><p>So I got kicked out of formation. It wasn't terrible. I mean, it could have gone a lot worse. Of course no-neck had to make a giant scene of me, then yell in my face for five more minutes, then send me back to my dorm (ordering me not to come back until I learn some discipline). I'm not entirely sure if there would be repercussions for my group because of what I did, but they were still outside and I was now on my bed, far away from any of that trouble. To be honest, it felt good to fight back against this dumb system anyway. It was the first thing I've felt good about since getting here this morning. And that was saying something.<p>

I lay on top of my sheets, taking out my phone to make my first call home.

"Katniss?"

It's Prim's voice on the other end, and the sound of it sends a wave of calm through me. It always does.

"How's the academy?" she asks.

"Oh, you know. Fine," I say, even though it's not really fine and I absolutely detest the culture here. She doesn't need to know that. "It's different. I keep getting in trouble because I'm not used to the way they do things around here."

"You'll do well. You're a fast learner."

"I hope so,"

"What kind of stuff are they teaching you?"

I think about it. How to stand up straight. How to make it look like I'm doing 50 push ups when I'm really only doing 20. How to be put on the spot, everywhere I go. "The same stuff, really. There's this one class that's different though - it's called Tactics, where you learn military strategies and techniques."

"Oh, you've always been interested in that sort of thing. You must like that class."

Not really. But she does have a point; I do like the subject. "It's good. I've got this girl in my class that . . . well, I'm not sure. I think we're friends, but she's a bit antagonizing. I could do without that."

"She's mean to you?"

"No," I reply. Not exactly that. _Just . . ._ "Everyone around here is a little rough around the edges. I don't fit in."

"You will in no time," she assures me. There's a pause at the other end, then her voice softens. "Hey, I'm sorry you have to be there. The house feels really lonely now," Prim says. I can tell that she blames herself for getting me in this situation, but I don't blame her at all. It was all me and my stupid temper.

And a bit of bad luck.

"It's not so bad. I'll be back to visit you on some weekends," I say.

"I'm just worried about you. Dad says they get mad when you make mistakes there, and I know you don't like being told what to do . . ."

I laugh because she's right - I don't like being told what to do. But if this was going to be my home for the next two years, I'd have to find a way to deal with it. "It's alright," I tell her. "I'm good at finding a way to make things work. Plus, I've met a couple friends . . ."


End file.
